


Sunday Service

by springburn



Series: Random musings from The Capaldi character file. [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Peter Capaldi character file, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cardinal has a new plaything....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Service

**Author's Note:**

> A little vignette for Cardinal Sinday (Sunday)......naughty Cardinal......on the Lords Day too.......

SUNDAY SERVICE. 

 

An attendant in dark robes floated down the centre aisle, a lighted taper held in his hand.  
The flame wavered in the draft as the candles flickered into life.  
Rising to brightness, then settling in an orange glow.  
The cloisters were quiet.  
Only the sound of a Te Deum floating through from the quire.  
High descants soaring above the rest, reverberating from the stone walls.  
He knelt, in the Lady Chapel.  
His bony fingers clutching the altar rail to steady himself.  
Head bowed in silent prayer.  
The scrape of a footstep behind him, disturbed his supplication.  
"Treville! What is it?"  
"I'm sorry to interrupt your meditations, Eminence. But the young lady you wished to see is here."  
"Have her taken to my chamber."  
The Captain inclined his head slightly, and backed away. 

She was standing in the centre of the room.  
Arms held loosely by her sides.  
Her head held erect, proud, but there was a slight tremor about her, a sense of nerves on edge.  
"Mademoiselle!"  
She dropped a curtsy, but her eyes stayed focused on him, she did not lower them.  
A hint of defiance? Bravery perhaps?  
"Do you know why you are here?"  
"No. Eminence."  
He moved towards her, tongue moistening his dry lips.  
Allowing his eyes to travel across her face, taking in the deep brown of her eyes, the milky whiteness of her throat and neck.  
A tiny pulse under the pearls she wore there.  
Down the swell of her breasts, as they rose and fell, pushed upwards by the confines of her bone corset.  
Wasp waist, thin, pale arms, small hands with delicate fingers, which twitched slightly, as he drew nearer.  
He took her chin in his hand, raised her head slightly.  
Those eyes!  
Gazing at him steadily, just a tinge of fear, but they held his, and did not flinch.  
"You have spirit." The corner of his mouth lifted with evident amusement.  
"I like that."  
"I'm glad I please you, my Lord."  
"You do. You do indeed." He replied. 

Closing the distance between them, he touched her lips with his own.  
His beard and moustache strangely soft as it touched the skin under her nose.  
The scent of him, masculine, but with an accent of citrus, and rosemary.  
She could feel his tongue, urgent, insistent, testing, seeking entrance, against all propriety she found herself leaning into him, so that when he eventually pulled away, she almost fell forwards, with a whimper as the contact was broken.  
He left her flushed and breathless.  
Walking around her now, taking her in, his hand stroking across one shoulder, down her arm, making her shiver involuntarily.  
"I think you'll do very nicely." He whispered, his mouth close to her ear.  
Breath hot against her skin, her eyes fluttered shut despite herself, a slight moan left her, beyond her control.  
His strength, his power, it was magnetic. 

Seating himself in the large leather chair, behind his desk, he motioned to her.  
"Wine, I think!" He rasped.  
A silver claret jug and vessels of Venetian glass stood there, she poured with a trembling hand, held one out for him to take.  
"And for yourself!" He motioned, and she poured again, raising the liquid to her lips, and taking a draught.  
Grateful for the warm glow it gave her, fire in her belly, coursing through her veins.  
She swallowed a second time, eagerly.  
Watching her all the while, admiring the slight flush in her cheek, which the red sweetness left there.  
"Your father sent you to me. Said I might find you useful. I think he was right." He observed.  
"Come. Sit."  
She perched sideways, across his lap.  
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, her hand on his chest to steady herself.  
The cool leather of his jerkin beneath her fingers, his gold chain and cross, hanging there, a reminder.  
Here was a man of the Cloth.  
"Tomorrow, you shall come to me again, and we will see just how useful you can be."  
"Whatever is your will, Eminence."  
He kissed her again, deeply and more forcefully than before, his mouth working on her own, her lips prised apart, devouring, potent, she returned the favour with fervour, ardent and passionate.  
Pulling apart almost as suddenly as he'd begun, his blue eyes smouldering with desire, he pushed her back.  
She almost fell from his lap onto the floor.  
"Have some restraint, woman! Today is Sunday. I have offices to perform. You will come to me tomorrow."  
He rose from the chair, and she could see that he was hotly aroused, the fabric of his breeches straining with his erection, although he made no reference to it.  
"You will prepare yourself, I will send for you. Be ready."  
Dropping a curtsy again, she backed away.  
"You are dismissed. Go to the Chapel. Down on your knees. Pray for forgiveness."  
"Yes. Eminence."  
As she reached the door, she turned, he was standing, his back to her, those broad shoulders hunched over, head bowed.  
"My Lord?"  
He swung slowly round, frowning towards her, his eyebrows furrowed.  
"I will pray for you too." She said softly.  
Then was gone.


End file.
